


the one with too many pacts

by katsumi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10314500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumi/pseuds/katsumi
Summary: Over the years, Clarke has accumulated a few pacts with friends she's agreed to marry if they're both still single by a certain point. They're joke pacts, obviously. But Miller's weirdly insistent that you can only have one backup, and Clarke would really prefer not to have this conversation with Bellamy in the room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt requesting something similar to the scene from Friends where Phoebe's made backup plans with both Joey and Ross. Which I wrote like immediately because of course.

Clarke is ecstatic that Jasper is finally tying the knot with Maya. Of course she is. She’s equally thrilled that after months of pure denial, claiming that what they were doing was strictly casual, Wells and Raven have finally gotten their acts together and admitted their relationship is actually rather serious. Clarke tends to collect friends who’ve been unlucky in love, so to see so much luck and magic spark all at once—of course that’s a precious thing.

 

It’s just. The timing could have been better, is all.

 

“I’m going to be date-less at Jasper’s wedding,” Clarke tells Miller, flopping down onto the couch beside him so animatedly, she almost spills her coffee.

 

Miller lowers his book, looking like it physically pains him to do it. “Yeah,” he says. “What else is new?”

 

Clarke kicks him.

 

“What? You broke up with Niylah months ago, and the wedding’s next Saturday. I’m just stating basic facts. Is that a latte? Can I have some?”

 

“Get your own.”

 

“I can’t,” says Miller, grouchy. “I started ordering black coffee here, and by this point Harper just gives it to me before I even make it to the counter.”

 

“And you don’t want to tell her you actually like things sweet and sugary?”

 

“You’re the worst,” says Miller, turning back to his book. “Enjoy being alone forever.”

 

“That’s the thing, though!” Clarke says. “At this point, I might actually be alone forever. I’m losing my backups left and right.”

 

Crap. Maybe there’s a chance Miller missed that.

 

But Miller’s already closing his book, shifting on the couch to face her. “Your what?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nope,” says Miller, with his infuriating little half-smirk. “You have to tell me now.” He leans over to the coffee table and slides her latte towards him. “Coffee’s mine until you tell me.”

 

Clarke supposes she could just forgo her latte. It’s not like she can’t just buy another. But Miller’s not going to let this go. She’s known Miller most of her life. He will lie in wait and bring this up at the exact worst moment, knowing she will crack. She can’t give him more ammunition than he already has.

 

“Fine. You know that thing people do where they like, make a pact to get together if neither one of them is married by a certain age?”

 

Miller just blinks at her for a second. “Seriously, Clarke?”

 

“To be fair,” Clarke cuts in. “I recognize now that marriage is not necessary for a happy and fulfilling life. But I made these pacts in _high school._ The threat of never-ending loneliness seemed a lot more dire at the time.”

 

“Wait,” Miller interrupts. “Pacts? As in, more than one pact?”

 

Clarke flushes. “Err—”

 

“You’re thinking.” Miller’s mouth drops open. “You’re _counting_. How many of these pacts do you have?”

 

“Okay,” says Clarke. “Stop. Let me explain. Wells and I made ours when we were like twelve, after his crush turned him down. And then Raven and I made ours junior year, after the whole Finn debacle. It was a bonding thing.”

 

“And now they’re together, so you’re pact-less,” Miller finishes. “That’s what you get for making two marriage pacts, Clarke.”

 

She isn’t able to think of anything to say fast enough. She just stares at him.

 

“Wait,” says Miller, slowly. “You’ve made more than two marriage pacts?” He frowns. "Should I be offended that none of these pacts are with me?"

 

"I guess I've limited it to people who might conceivably be attracted to me."

 

"Okay, fair."

 

“Again,” says Clarke, reaching for her latte, “I really want to emphasize that I don’t _actually think_ these people are bound to marry me if—”

 

Miller leans back, shaking his head. “Nope, you don’t get off the hook that easily.” Then, over her shoulder, he calls: “Hey, Bellamy!”

 

Clarke’s heart sinks. When she twists her neck, she sees Bellamy—shirt-sleeves rolled up, glasses slipping down his nose—making his way over to their corner. And crap, Monty’s trailing behind him.

 

Clarke tries to signal to Miller to _cut it out already_ , a signal Miller ignores despite clearly being able to read it.

 

“Bellamy,” he repeats. “Did you know that Clarke’s been promising to marry her friends if she’s still unwed at a certain age?”

 

“Yeah,” says Bellamy, sliding into the armchair next to the couch at the same time as Monty says, “I’d forgotten about that!”

 

Everyone stops. Bellamy blinks at Monty, who blinks right back. They both turn to look at Clarke.

 

“Okay,” says Clarke. “I can explain.”

 

“You’d better,” Miller says, a low growl.

 

Clarke turns to Monty, pleading. “Ours was right after Jasper and Maya started dating, right? Pre-Niylah, immediately post-Harper?”

 

Monty winces, glancing over at the coffee counter. “Let’s not broadcast how bummed I was about that, okay? It was like, five dates, and we’re good now. But, uh, yeah. That’s when it was.”

 

“Did you know,” Miller asks, “that Clarke had already promised herself to Wells _and_ Raven at the time?”

 

Clarke glares at him. Miller is entirely too invested in this. If she moves fast enough, she could probably reach forward and “accidentally” dump the latte into his lap.

 

She’s seriously considering it when Bellamy cuts in with a low chuckle, “Wait. So I was your fourth choice?”

 

And there it is.

 

Clarke remembers the night she made the pact with Bellamy, the two of them crowded onto his and Miller’s fire escape last fourth of July, passing a half-empty bottle of whiskey between them. The only angle at which she could actually glimpse the fireworks around the neighboring buildings was squeezed against Bellamy’s side, head dropped onto his shoulder.

 

She’d been sleepy and content and more than a little drunk, and even though she’d had no reason—no shock from a bad breakup, no weddings in sight—she had pinched Bellamy’s knee and asked: “Hey, if we’re both still alone and pathetic in like, ten to fifteen years, want to get married?”

 

“I take offense to pathetic,” Bellamy had said. She’d laughed, nudging him, and had thought that would be it. But then he had curled a his pinky around her thumb and murmured, a little hard to hear above the fireworks: “Yeah. That sounds good.”

 

Clarke is together enough as a person to know that this did not constitute an actual proposal, or a declaration of actual romantic affections, or really anything more than a thirty second drunken conversation. But it had still felt like a _moment_. Or, at the very least, more of a moment than when she had been laying on the floor next to Monty, a half-eaten pizza between them, and had said: “When we’re forty, let’s get married, move to the country, and adopt like fourteen cats.”

 

Technically, Bellamy is the fourth person she’s asked. But if she’s being honest, he’s the first person she’s _wanted_ to ask. He’s far from her fourth choice.

 

But telling him this feels like way too risky a move. So Clarke just shrugs, attempting indifference. “I like to keep my options open.”

 

Monty sinks onto the armrest of Bellamy’s chair. “Ouch. You’re ruthless.”

 

“Too ruthless,” Miller agrees. “Clarke, you’ve got to settle this.”

 

Clarke always wants to kick Miller in the shins at least a _little_ bit, but the urge is rising with every moment. “Excuse me?” she asks.

 

Miller’s practically grinning. “You only get one backup. Raven and Wells are taken, so: Bellamy or Monty. Take your pick.”

 

“First of all,” says Clarke, doing her very best to not look over and meet Bellamy’s eye, “who are you to say I only get one backup?”

 

Miller rolls his eyes. “Because it’s logical? I don’t know. Look, I’ll take whoever you don’t take, and then we’ll be squared away. Plus hey, this way you’ll have a clear plus one for Jasper’s wedding.”

 

Bellamy laughs, like this whole thing is amusing and not vaguely mortifying. Monty shrinks a little, glancing between Miller and Clarke with clear concern on his face.

 

“Uh,” he tries, “we really don’t have to—”

 

“Fine,” Clarke interrupts, narrowing her eyes at Miller. “But I think that Miller should pick first.”

 

This is, on the surface, a perfect plan. If Miller picks Monty—which of course he’ll do; he might not admit it, but he's undeniably fond of Monty—then Clarke will get Bellamy without having to _pick_ Bellamy. It'll be like they just kind of wound up together. That’s the kind of carefully calculated nonchalance she’s aiming for.

 

But then, the corner of Miller’s mouth twitches, and the bottom falls out of Clarke’s stomach. She knows that look.

 

_Oh no._

 

“Okay,” says Miller, with a shrug. “I’ll take Bellamy.”

 

Clarke stares at him. He stares back, clear defiance on his face. When she turns to look over her shoulder, Bellamy and Monty are both staring at Miller, too: Bellamy looking like he’s trying not to laugh, Monty like he’s trying not to frown.

 

“Work for you, man?” Miller asks.

 

Bellamy shrugs. “We already live together. There’s probably some tax breaks if we get married, so, sure. Works for me.”

 

Miller nods. “Clarke? That work for you?”

 

Clarke knows exactly what Miller’s doing. He’s not being subtle about it. She knows she shouldn’t take the bait.

 

But the thing is...this _doesn’t_ work for her. As much as she hates to admit it, if there’s going to be someone by her side at the wedding next weekend, or at her med school graduation a few weeks after that, or at really any future event of any kind, she wants it to be Bellamy. Sarcastic, loyal, can’t keep his goddamn glasses on straight no matter what he does Bellamy.

 

And Miller fucking _knows_ , which explains why he looks so smug.

 

“No,” Clarke says, managing to keep herself from snarling. “It doesn’t.”

 

Miller’s flat out smirking, now. “So, you’ll take Bellamy, then?”

 

“Yes,” she grits out. “I’ll take Bellamy.”

 

“Okay. Good.”

 

“Well,” says Monty, “thanks for that, guys. That was like reliving all my childhood nightmares about being picked last for soccer, except _so much worse_.”

 

“Aw,” says Bellamy, patting Monty on the back. “Want me to pick you?”

 

“I don’t want your pity pick.”

 

“It’s not a pity pick,” Bellamy insists. “You’re a catch. You’re cute and unlike just about everyone else we know, you’re emotionally stable.”

 

“Hey,” Miller says, “stop hitting on my pick.”

 

“Your _second choice pick_ ,” Monty grumbles.

 

“Oh, come on,” says Miller, tucking his book under his arm and pushing to his feet. “I’ll make it up to you. Want to come use our PS4?”

 

“I mean, _yes_ ,” says Monty. “But that’s a cheap shot. I always want to use your PS4.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” says Miller, and Clarke could _swear_ she sees him pat Monty’s thigh as he passes. “Let’s go.”

 

“Monty, you know I love you!” Clarke tries, as Monty stands to leave.

 

“You too, betrayer!” he calls back, but he at least sounds cheerful.

 

Then they’re gone, and it’s just Clarke and Bellamy, sitting in silence. Clarke swallows, turning to face him.

 

“Bellamy, I—”

 

“So,” says Bellamy, cutting her off, “what are you wearing to the wedding? I don’t want to clash.”

 

Clarke isn’t sure what she was expecting him to say, but she knows it wasn’t _that_.

 

“A dress?”

 

“Helpful.”

 

“Wait.” The gears in Clarke’s head are still rusty, but they’re turning a little faster, now. “Wait. Miller was joking. You don’t actually have to be my plus one at this wedding, you know.”

 

Bellamy’s smile is dimpling his cheeks. It’s hard to look away from.

 

“I thought it was one of my duties as your backup,” he says.

 

“Yeah, but—” Seriously, why is she _arguing_ about this? Still, she she can’t seem to stop. “You’re actually _in the wedding_. You wouldn’t be my plus one; you’re already a groomsman.”

 

Bellamy shrugs. “I could be both.” Then his smile falters, slides into something more serious. He looks down at his hands, clasped on his lap. “Uh, that is—if you want.”

 

Clarke’s heart is now beating so loud against her ears, it’s hard to think. But if she’s reading this right…

 

She lets out a long, shaky breath.

 

“Navy.”

 

Bellamy looks up.

 

“My dress,” she clarifies, “is navy.”

 

The smile spreads slow across Bellamy’s face. “Well, the wedding colors are yellow and gray, so I think we’ll be fine.”

 

“Jasper’s not making you wear a yellow suit, right? Because that might be a deal-breaker for me.”

 

“Gray suit. Yellow pocket square.”

 

“Oh.” Clarke smiles. “I can work with that.”

 

Bellamy bites his lip. “Yeah?”

 

Clarke knocks her knee against his. She thinks the sheer force of her smile might split her face in two.

 

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m just saying,” says Monty, “you don’t know what it’s like to sit there and listen to your two hot friends debate which one gets to be with your third hot friend, and which one gets _stuck with you_.”

 

Miller pulls back from where he’s been sucking a bruise into the curve of Monty’s neck. He tightens his grip on Monty’s hips, pressing him even more firmly against his bedroom door.

 

“Monty,” he says, even. “I’m far from stuck with you. You’ve got to let this go.”

 

“It’s just—” Miller’s hand dips below the line of his jeans, and Monty shivers.

 

“I was doing them a favor.”

 

“Yeah, but—”

 

“You’re the one,” Miller says, pressing his lips to Monty’s jaw, “who wanted to keep this quiet.”

 

“I know, I know,” Monty groans. “And I still think that’s a good idea for a little while, until we—oh, shit, _Nate_.”

 

Miller grins. “So, I kept my promise. I kept it quiet.” He kisses Monty, slow. “And now, I’m going to keep my other promise and make it up to you.”

 

Monty laughs, a little breathless. “Well, alright. If you insist.”

**Author's Note:**

> I figured if it's a quasi-Friends AU, why not lean into it and throw the secret relationship in there for kicks.
> 
> I'm [leralynne](http://leralynne.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you want to come say hi :)


End file.
